


Different Tastes

by DemonicSymphony



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Chef John, Chef Sherlock, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Mycroft's Meddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/pseuds/DemonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John own restaurants across the street from one another. With a history of flying puddings and altercations in their past... It's up to Mycroft to meddle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Tastes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pythagoreanpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pythagoreanpineapple/gifts).



> pythagoreanpineapple asked "What if John and Sherlock were the owners of rival restaurants that were right across the street from one another?"
> 
> Thanks to Antidiogenes for the cheering on of this pinch hit and twofingerpost for the title help!
> 
> Translated to Chinese by PaypayaTwilight here: [Different Tastes](http://221dnet.211.30i.cn/bbs/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=5994&page=1&extra=#pid358864)

Sherlock Holmes yelled across the kitchen at his staff. “Are we ready to open? Watson’s trying that new meal to complement Molly’s dessert tonight. I expect ours to be better! Am I understood!?”

A chorus of ‘yes Chef’ answered him. Moments later the doors opened and the first reservations of the night poured through the door. 

Across the street John Watson stood in the doorway of his kitchen and looked over his staff, blue eyes holding a twinkle of amusement. “Holmes is scared. He knows this new meal is better than anything he has on the menu. Let’s make sure the rest of our food lives up to it tonight. Everyone ready?” 

The staff nodded and murmured ‘yes sir’ as they prepared to throw themselves into the evening’s dinner service.

“Open the doors!” John called out and shoved his hat on his head, covering his greying blond hair as he stepped into the kitchen.

Dinner service at both restaurants was busy. Saturday nights always were. Sherlock’s _Tastes Deducted_ and John’s _Desert Wind_ were located directly across the street from one another. When they’d gone up within a month of each other, no one expected them to last, especially given the other restaurants in the area (Not to mention that nasty business of the failed competition). To the surprise of food critics and other owners alike, they’d become a force to be reckoned with and the resulting draw of business forced three restaurants nearby to close.

Sherlock barked orders and sent too soft staff scurrying to the back alley to cry while others, well used to the turnover, kept everything in order. His main staff was loyal to a fault; when Sherlock found someone worthy of his kitchen, he did everything he could to keep them.

John was kind and soothing, his food warm and comforting, reflecting his nature. His staff was good, some of the best and all of them loyal.

The exception for both chefs was dessert chef Molly Hooper. She developed the desserts for both restaurants. Neither chef would give her up and she enjoyed the work and extra pay.

She also told them both exactly what the other was up to. There were no secrets between the restaurants. Sherlock and John’s rivalry was known far and wide. They did not speak to one another in public anymore… not after heated exchanges shortly after they’d opened wound up on YouTube and BBC News.

At the end of the shift Sherlock toasted his staff, allowing them to take home what leftovers there were and congratulated them on a shift well done, made his sous chef fire three people, and finally ran the busboys off, swearing at them in French about damaging his good pots.

John took the time to throw together a nice soup or stew for his staff at the end of day and fed them all, cracking open a couple of the bottles of wine he kept just for them after rough Saturday nights. They sat around talking for a while until everything was cleaned and everyone filtered out. 

He sat in his office rubbing his temples when a deep voice sounded from the doorway. 

“I need Molly exclusively for Halloween…”

John’s head snapped up at Sherlock’s voice and he glared. “What? No! That’s ridiculous… We barely celebrate Halloween here anyhow. Sod off, Holmes.”

Sherlock took the seat across from John and sprawled in it. “Come now, John. Don’t be difficult. I have the restaurant all booked up by an American company. In London for some merger or something. I don’t care. They want a Halloween themed- whatever. Idiots. I should have sent them to you. This is much more your milieu- This ridiculousness.”

“I said, Sod… Off… You shouldn’t have committed if you didn’t know for sure you could do it,” John snarked as he went through his paperwork.

“You can have her for your Christmas plans,” Sherlock offered.

John’s eyes widened as he looked back up at Sherlock. “You’d willingly give her up for the Christmas rush? Christ, mate, how much are they paying you?”

Sherlock made a face, his nose scrunching. “Crass, John.”

A small shrug of John’s shoulders was the only response to the insult. “Fine, but I want it in writing and all three of us sign it. On my desk tomorrow.”

With a smirk, Sherlock leaned across the desk, crowding into John’s space. “John,” he purred, “you really shouldn’t try to be demanding. It doesn’t fit.”

John’s eyes narrowed, but Sherlock caught the hard swallow and the widening of John’s eyes as he spoke. “I- Christ, Sherlock, go on, you got what you wanted, just send the paperwork, yeah?”

Sherlock’s face turned smug. “I always get what I want… surely you know this by now.” He stood and winked to John. “See you tomorrow.”

A sound of protest came too late as Sherlock swanned back out, his coat dramatically flaring behind him.

“Git… Needs to stay the hell out of my office.” John muttered to himself as he signed a check for the butcher with more pressure than was necessary. He huffed, throwing down the pen and abandoning his paperwork. It was always a lost cause after Holmes had been by. He threw on his coat and locked up, heading for his flat, still cursing Sherlock under his breath.

\---

Sherlock sent the paperwork to John via Molly the next afternoon. John signed all three copies so that they were all prepared for exactly what would happen. Things went back to normal and Molly continued to transport barbed messages from one chef to another. Then some idiot decided to book both restaurants for the same party. 

John looked up Mycroft Holmes strolled into his restaurant, toting his umbrella. “Ah, John Watson… I have a business proposal for you.”

“Oh? Well, I usually do party business earlier in the day…” John murmured, trying to ignore Mycroft.

“It will only take a moment.” Mycroft assured as John shook his hand.

“Mycroft- why don't you ask Sherlock..." When Mycroft merely arched a brow, John sighed. "Let me get my notebook.”

“Won’t be necessary, I have all the information you need. I’m familiar with how you order. Ms. Hooper is most helpful.”

John found a bound and readied _presentation_ pressed into his hand. 

“All the information you need is in-”

“MYCROFT!”

John startled at Sherlock’s angry voice carrying from the front door.

“Ah, brother dear.” Mycroft smiled an unpleasant smile as he turned to face Sherlock.

Sherlock scowled as he shook what appeared to be the same presentation. “The hell is all this?”

John cleared his throat. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on, but perhaps you two could take your domestic… oh, I don’t know… Over to the _Holmes_ restaurant. Not mine?”

“Don’t be stupid, John.” Sherlock snapped. “This has everything to do with you. He’s just handed me the same thing. I do believe he intends on shutting down the street and having some sort of… of _festival_ with our restaurants at the center.” The disdain on Sherlock's face was evident as he looked between the two of them.

Mycroft’s smile tightened. “Nothing so pedestrian, Sherlock… I’ve also booked the two others on the street, you’re all serving the same thing. It’s good for the area… It’s to highlight the fine dining found here and the specialty shops. The shop owners are all very happy. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you?”

John and Sherlock stared at him.

“We’re not working together.” Sherlock and John stated at the same time.

“Pity. There is a dessert contest, prize money goes to the best pastry chef for their restaurant. It would behoove you two to be kind to Ms. Hooper so she creates something spectacular… I believe she’s grown tired of being your go between.”

Sherlock glowered. “You meddling arse.”

“Until later, gentlemen…” Mycroft looked smug as he swept out of John’s restaurant. 

For nearly five minutes, John and Sherlock stood there staring at one another before Sherlock threw up his hands. “Come by after dinner service. I’ll cook. Bring one of your best reds.” 

John stared in shock after Sherlock’s retreating form. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This had all the earmarks of disaster.

If either crew noticed how distracted their chefs were, they wisely did not say anything. John and Sherlock were both unusually quiet, Sherlock not yelling as much, and John not chattering in his firm guiding way. When cleanup was finished, John selected a bottle of Sassicaia before locking up and crossing the street. He slipped down the alley and in the back door.

Sherlock looked up from where he was searing steaks. “Ah, John. Glasses and opener at the bar. We’ll eat at the table just outside the door. Don’t forget to let it breathe.”

John rolled his eyes but slipped out to do just that. He was surprised to find a candle lit at the table. When he ducked his head back in Sherlock was coming with two plates. John inhaled deeply and let out an appreciative hum. 

“How did you know asparagus was my favorite?” John asked as they moved to the table.

“Child’s play. You feature it heavily in the menu when it’s in season and I’ve heard reviews from people who normally hate it… You make them appreciate it. Impressive.” Sherlock answered, settling the plates on the table.

A small laugh escaped John. “That’s- well that’s rather good. I’d have never thought of that.”

The look on Sherlock’s face was puzzled for a moment before he tilted his head. “You didn’t tell me to fuck off for reading into your menu.”

“It’s our business. I look at yours all the time… Broccoli won’t kill you…”

“I despise broccoli.” Sherlock made a face as he poured the wine for them. “Disgusting vegetable.”

John laughed heartily and shook his head. “Oi, how much did they force you to eat as a child?”

“I do not wish to speak of it.”

John shook his head. “So, about this thing… your brother is doing?”

“Yes, I’m afraid he thinks it will be good for business. He’s heavily invested in mine.” Sherlock shrugged.

“So why involve me?”

Sherlock cut into his steak, taking a moment to not answer. John followed suit, allowing the question to hang. Sherlock finally shrugged as he sipped at his wine.

“I never know what is going on in Mycroft’s mind.” Sherlock muttered as he ate. “He’s wildly unpredictable. He’s been trying to get me to go into business with you for ages.”

“Us… in business together? Has he seen us? Seen the YouTube footage? You slung a toffee pudding at my head!” John protested, though there was no fire to his words, more fond amusement.

A small chuckle escaped Sherlock. “You over salted the soup.”

“I did not!”

“You did and we lost the competition!” Sherlock snapped, eyes narrowed.

Sherlock and John stared at each other over the table and fell silent. John looked down at his plate and cleared his throat. “It really is quite good.”

“Thank you… I knew it was one of your favorites.” Sherlock answered, voice softer. 

They finished their meal in silence and Sherlock cleared away the dishes as John poured them both another glass of wine. Sherlock returned a moment later with a small dark chocolate cake.

“Only the one left. I thought we might split it. Has Molly made these for you yet?”

John shook his head. “No, I’ve got my order in for the ingredients. My normal grocer didn’t carry the cocoa she insisted on.”

A small hum of approval came from Sherlock. “I’m afraid that was my intervention. Here…” He held out a bite on the spoon.

Leaning forward, John took the offered bite. He met Sherlock’s eyes as he let out a small moan around it. As he pulled away, chewing the cake, he blushed, the intimacy of the moment hitting him. Sherlock had a smug smile on his face.

“That particular cocoa is the best, bar none, for this sort of cake. More expensive, but worth it.” Sherlock said as he used the same spoon to get a bite for himself.

John found his throat tightening as he watched. He licked over his bottom lip, taking in the obscene way Sherlock’s lips captured the spoon. His eyes dropped away when his blush worsened.

A deep chuckle left Sherlock when he’d finished the bite and John looked up to see him put a binder in the middle of the table.

“Every dessert Molly has made for either of us, including the failed ones. I thought we might go through, pick out our favorites and draw inspiration from there. Molly, of course, will have ultimate creative control… but it can’t hurt to give her a starting place.” Sherlock tapped the book while he moved to John’s side.

When Sherlock pressed closer than was strictly necessary for the activity, John tried to control his wildly beating heart, lost in thought about the competition years ago.

_“We’ve come to the Holmes and Watson team. Now is it true these two didn’t know one another before this, Joan?”_

_“It’s true, William. Most of the other teams have known one another for years and been cooking together for at least two or three years as chef and sous chef… Watson and Holmes both are on the fast track to opening restaurants of their own. Rumor has it that both of them are already negotiating purchases. They’d never even met before the competition. Holmes approached Watson to cook for it out of the blue.”_

_The camera showed John and Sherlock moving around the competition kitchen, looking for all the world as though they were dancing. It was intimate, the closeness of it, and their bodies brushed and slid against one another. Sherlock paused and leaned over John to peer at the soup._

_“What’s this? Are we going to have our first on-air kiss of this competition? The rumor mill has been swirling about these two from the start, just look at the tension.” Came Joan’s voice, hushed over the video even though neither John nor Sherlock could hear her._

_Sherlock grinned down at John and neither of them noticed John’s hand slip, dumping a measure of salt into the soup. The almost kiss hovered for a moment longer before Sherlock pulled away to check on their other dishes._

_“That could hurt them, Joan…”_

John took in a sharp breath as he found Sherlock inches from his face, a brow raised. 

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying? Where were you just now?”

“Ah- I-” John cleared his throat. “Sorry, sorry. What?”

“We should start with pastries.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed and he held out another bite. “Molly informs me chocolate cures everything.”

John shifted in his chair knowing damn well it wasn’t going to do anything for the erection he was currently hiding beneath the tablecloth.

Sherlock smirked and shrugged taking the bite for himself. “You think too much, John… that’s always been your problem.”

“Shut up, Sherlock.” John found his voice and tapped on the binder. “Show me your ideas, you great git.” He stole the spoon from Sherlock, taking a bite of the cake. A bit of sauce spilled over his lower lip as he moved the spoon back to the plate. 

As soon as John had the spoon out of his mouth, Sherlock leaned in, licking the sauce from John’s lip before kissing him. 

John froze for a moment before melting into the kiss, the spoon clattering to the tabletop as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, burying one hand in the curls at the base of Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock shifted as he deepened the kiss, pulling John closer to him. His hand ran down John’s side and then under his chef’s shirt, fingers running against bare skin, drawing a moan from John. Sherlock bit at John’s lower lip, just shy of painfully, making John’s hips buck.

“Sherlock!” John gasped against him, making Sherlock smile and nip along John’s jaw to his neck. 

A low moan left John as Sherlock bit and sucked at John’s neck just under the collar of his shirt. Sherlock delighted in the way John’s body trembled against him, his hand sliding down to cup John’s erection through his trousers.

“Christ, Sherlock… Christ.” John moaned as his head tipped back. “Fuck, _please_.” He looked at Sherlock through half-lidded eyes, panting softly. “You fucking planned this.” 

Sherlock smirked, drawing another moan from John when he gave a slow stroke to John’s erection through his trousers. “I might have hoped you’d be this receptive.” His voice was low, thick with desire as he watched John. “You’re always so passionate about other things… I wondered what you’d look like.”

“I’m not one of your bloody kitchen- ah!” John let out another groan as Sherlock squeezed him while stroking. “Experiments!” He gasped, rolling his hips up.

“Mm, no, you are far more interesting.” Sherlock answered as he ran his nose along John’s jaw.

John shuddered in his chair. “Sherlock… Fuck.”

“Probably not tonight… but I do intend to see what you look like when you fall apart.”

“Jesus…” John rasped as Sherlock’s hand dipped into his trousers. “God, yes.” 

When Sherlock’s hand closed around him, despite the odd angle and the fact that, technically, anyone wandering by could have peered in and seen them, he knew it wasn’t going to take long to get John off. He allowed himself to be dragged in for another kiss, John nipping at his lower lip.

Sherlock grinned against the kiss as he worked John, his hand sliding over him easily. John moaned, his hips rocking up into Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock’s hand started to cramp because of the angle, but he found he didn’t care… he was having far too much fun cataloging John’s every reaction to him. 

John was trembling against him and Sherlock murmured words of encouragement in French, remembering from the competition all too well how much French affected him. With another few strokes and a command in French for John to come, John was arching up, body tensing against Sherlock as he came. He panted, head tucked against Sherlock, soft whimpers and moans escaping him.

Sherlock murmured soft words of praise as he worked John through his orgasm before swiping one of his soft, cloth napkins from the table. He cleaned John up before kissing him again, allowing John to come back down slowly.

When he’d caught his breath back, John gazed up at Sherlock and licked over his lower lip. 

“Well… that got us absolutely no closer to figuring out dessert.”

The laugh that left Sherlock at John’s comment was deep and he tucked his head against John’s. “No, it most certainly did not… Come home with me. We can discuss it over the breakfast you cook me in the morning.”

“Oh, I’m cooking you breakfast, am I?”

“It’s only fair… I cooked dinner.” Sherlock replied as he leaned back, snagging the last bite of cake.

“Smug git.” John murmured fondly. “Fine… take me home.”

Sherlock grinned. “Go clean up a bit more. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

Thirty minutes later found the two of them locking Sherlock’s place up and strolling the short distance to Sherlock’s flat. He let them upstairs and as soon as the door was shut behind them, had John pressed against the door kissing him. When he broke away he grinned. “Shower and then bed. We have much to discuss over breakfast.”

John groaned at Sherlock and gave him a small shove. “Go on then…”

Sherlock led John to the shower and took his time undressing him. He hovered over the scar draped over John’s shoulder and spoke, “What spilled on you?” His fingers brushed over the scarring.

“Sous chef dropped a pot of caramel on me… first real cooking job I had. I was bent down, putting something in one of the low ovens. He didn’t know I was there, turned around with it and tripped over me. Could have been worse. It was a tiny pot and I had my thick uniform on. It didn’t hit my face…”

A small hum escaped Sherlock, a flash of distress on his face.

“Hey…” John caught his chin and tipped Sherlock’s face back to him. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, the scarring looks worse than it is, it didn’t burn deeply, it’s a lot of ugly surface scarring, doesn’t really interfere with my work… Can’t always pull down pots from overhead, or transfer big pots on my own. But that’s why I’m the boss and get to yell at the rest of them to do it.”

Sherlock pressed a flurry of kisses to John’s shoulder before kissing him hard on the lips. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and hummed soothingly to him. They got the shower adjusted and took their time exploring and washing one another. John kissed down across Sherlock’s chest, slowly sinking to his knees in front of him. 

When John licked the length of his cock, Sherlock moaned, tipping his head back against the tile of the shower. He curled his fingers in John’s hair, guiding his head as John sucked down over his cock.

“Fuck, John.”

John moaned around Sherlock as he let Sherlock guide him, paying attention to what made Sherlock moan louder. One hand was braced on Sherlock’s hip as his other rolled Sherlock’s testicles. Sherlock’s hand tightened in John’s hair and he rocked his hips a bit faster.

“That’s it…” Sherlock gasped as John sucked and and fondled him. “John.” He groaned as he gripped him, fucking his face in earnest. John held onto Sherlock’s hips, moaning around him. A few stuttered thrusts later Sherlock pulled free. John made a small sound of protest as Sherlock stroked himself twice before coming against the shower tiles. He gasped as he tried to catch his breath. 

John moved to his feet and kissed Sherlock softly. “Didn’t have to pull free.” He murmured. “Wasn’t very safe for me to take you without a condom to start with…”

“I’m clean.” Sherlock answered as he nuzzled John’s temple. “Next time then.” He promised.

They stood under the spray for a few more minutes, soaking up the heat and the feel of being close. When the water started cooling, Sherlock turned off the taps and herded John out. The flat was comfortably warm as they dried off. 

Sherlock led John to bed and curled up around him under the soft sheets and and duvet. He nuzzled his face against the back of John’s neck and wrapped his arm around John’s waist.

“Goodnight.” Sherlock murmured.

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

The next morning dawned bright and early, but the two of them stayed huddled under the covers for a while longer. Sherlock rose first and put John’s uniform through the wash, leaving him a dressing gown. The two of them discussed pastries and cakes over the breakfast John made. By the time they’d settled on several desserts for Molly to draw inspiration from, they barely had time for a heated snog before dashing toward their restaurants. If either set of staff noticed John steal a kiss from Sherlock as he unlocked his door, no one said a word, at least not in earshot of either chef.

Sherlock and John stole moments here and there over the next few weeks, though neither had time to stay over again as they geared up for several big events each. They hadn’t managed to do more than text a few pictures of meals they were proud of for a week when John stopped by with two to-go boxes the night before the festival.

“Come on you. I made dinner. Got a bottle of wine at yours? I even brought an extra uniform.”

Sherlock looked up in surprise as did the rest of his staff. John looked around and shrugged.

“What? It’s not like you lot don’t know. Stop looking at us like we grew second heads, surely you’ve noticed Molly’s been less stressed and hasn’t been tattling what we’re making? It’s because we’ve been talking menus and actually offsetting one another, pushing and pulling business to and fro.” John rolled his eyes at them as he spoke.

A small grin quirked the corner of Sherlock’s mouth up. “You speak to them like you know them.” 

“I know you… I know how you speak to them and what they expect.” John quipped back.

That broke the spell on the kitchen and a few people laughed before breakdown continued. Sherlock turned to his sous chef. “Lock up, I’m going home early.”

Sherlock huffed at the wolf whistles that followed them out into the cool night.

\---

The festival was crowded. John and Sherlock spent more time out in the dining rooms than they did in their kitchens. People were served elegant versions of finger foods and Molly had developed an inspired, but simple dessert sampler. 

_Moriarty’s_ a few doors down had thrown a rich, over-indulgent dessert at people and John heard more than one person complain about feeling sick after. As the festival died down and people started filtering out, John sneaked over to Sherlock’s. Just as John made it to the kitchen, Sherlock came out.

Sherlock slipped an arm around John’s waist without thinking about it and smiled down to him. "Evening..."

The flash of the camera caught them off guard. Both of them looked up as someone smiled brightly. “Sherlock and John! Is the relationship we all saw budding on _London’s Finest Duos_ finally a reality? Have you forgiven John for making you lose the competition, Sherlock? John, have you forgiven Sherlock for throwing a toffee pudding at your head?”

Sherlock looked thunderous. “Out! Out of my restaurant! I have told you vultures to stay out!”

John rolled his eyes and put a hand on Sherlock’s chest. “Oi, you, shut it.” He leaned up and kissed Sherlock softly before looking over to the reporter. “We’re together, we’re happy, now please… sod off.” He winked and steered Sherlock back into the kitchen, where the reporter could hear Sherlock ranting in French.

Sherlock fussed at John for a solid five minutes before John held up a hand and spoke with an amused tone. “As sexy as angry French is, I can’t understand a bloody thing you are saying. Idiot. Too fast...”

“Oh-” Sherlock murmured as he gazed down at John. “I was saying I cannot believe they would-”

John chuckled. “Mm, I got the gist. Breathe.”

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and smiled. “We should go home… Take some food and just take off. Molly will win her award and we don’t have to be here.”

“Get some food together then. Let me go get my things.” He pulled Sherlock down for a brief kiss before slipping back across the street to gather his things and leave his sous chef in charge. 

They met at the back of Sherlock’s restaurant and headed for Sherlock’s flat, hands twined together. 

“You said home…” John murmured.

“Yes, I did.” Sherlock answered.

“Sherlock! We don’t live together… don’t you think that’s kind of a big thing?” John questioned as they crossed the street.

Sherlock hummed. “John, will you move in with me? I have an entire extra bedroom you can have as a study or whatever you want…”

“Mad bastard…” John fussed and paused before finally continuing. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll accept that answer, for now.” Sherlock teased as they slipped into his building and climbed the stairs to his flat.

They spent the early evening curled up with one another, eating and watching cooking shows, yelling at the television when someone did something they considered stupid. The two of them sipped at wine, legs entangled. When they’d finished Sherlock urged him up. 

“Bed…” Sherlock stated. He tugged John along with him

John grinned as he followed, allowing Sherlock to start undressing him as soon as they were in Sherlock’s bedroom. When Sherlock’s lips found his neck, John gasped, arching into him. 

“Sherlock, God.” John whimpered as Sherlock’s teeth grazed his neck, his hand sliding down the front of John’s trousers. “Fuck.” His hips rocked up as Sherlock wrapped his hand around his cock.

“John,” Sherlock murmured against John’s neck. He stroked and squeezed John until he was hard in his hand. With swift movements, Sherlock divested John of his clothing, sending his uniform flying across the room. “Now I know why your uniforms are red.” He said as he snapped the waistband of John’s pants.

John chuckled, fingers working over the buttons of Sherlock’s chef shirt. “Too many clothes... and I like to match most of the time, arse.” He muttered as he shoved the garment off Sherlock’s shoulders. John peeled down Sherlock’s trousers and looked up with a brow raised. “I like the dark purple.”

“If you’re going to comment on the color of my pants, at least use the proper name… Aubergine.” Sherlock quipped as he tugged John back up for a rough kiss, stepping out of his trousers before pushing John back toward the bed. When John’s knees hit the bed and he fell back, Sherlock crawled on top of him.

A smile lit up John’s face as he gazed up at Sherlock. “Hello there.” He rolled his hips up, making Sherlock gasp as their erections rubbed one another through their pants.

“Christ.” Sherlock muttered and leaned in kissing John again, reaching between them to stroke John through the cloth. He nipped at his lower lip. “I am going to make you scream, John Watson… Just like I wanted to after we won the competition like we should have.”

John groaned, arching up when Sherlock squeezed. “Jesus, Sherlock… fuck.”

A smirk showed on Sherlock’s face as he slid down John’s body and mouthed him, dampening the cotton.

John sank a hand into Sherlock’s hair, not pulling, just grounding himself.

Sherlock hummed in approval as he continued his ministrations. He hooked his fingers in John’s pants, pulling them down to slowly reveal John’s cock.

When Sherlock licked from base to tip before swallowing him halfway, John cursed in all three languages he knew. Sherlock bobbed his head, torturing John on purpose for a moment before he reached for the lube. He slicked his fingers and pressed one in, causing John to whimper in pleasure. 

Sherlock kept going, using his fingers and his mouth until John was open, panting and pleading under him. He came off John with a small pop, smirking up at him, rocking three fingers in him with slow, tiny movements.

John swore and shook his head. “If you do not get up here and fuck me properly, Sherlock Holmes… I’ll be forced to do something drastic.”

“Mm, I’ll have to test that theory sometime when I have more patience.” Sherlock purred as he eased his fingers from John. He slipped out of his pants, using them to clean up the excess lube. After fishing a condom from his nightstand, he rolled it on and climbed back on the bed.

John shifted up on the bed and Sherlock followed, pulling one of John’s legs to his shoulder. He started to ease himself into John. John arched up, moaning at the stretch and slight burn. “Fuck, Sherlock. God yes.”

With a hand braced by John’s head he groaned as he settled in John, giving them both a few minutes to adjust. “John…” He murmured as he kissed along John’s jaw. 

After a minute John huffed. “Move, Sherlock…” He groaned when Sherlock obliged, starting to roll his hips. It took them a few tries to find their rhythm but Sherlock knew he had it when John’s breathing grew shallower.

They moved together, murmured words of praise and encouragement passing between them as they rocked, bodies tensing and sliding against one another’s. Sherlock gasped against John’s neck as he bit and sucked up a possessive mark making John cry out at the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain.

John’s nails raked down Sherlock’s back, spurring him to move faster, the rhythm starting to fail them as they got closer to orgasm. He panted, breathless little moans escaping him as he clung to Sherlock. 

Sherlock sped up as John wrapped a hand around himself, stroking in time with Sherlock’s thrusts. He listened as John groaned when he shifted up to his knees and angled them to take John deeper, harder, the thrusts making John beg.

It didn’t take long with the new angle before John tensed, back arching as he came. Sherlock watched as John bucked and come fell across his chest. With a few more thrusts Sherlock buried himself in John, coming hard, hands clamped on John’s legs. The two of them panted, gasping against one another as Sherlock lowered John’s legs and leaned in to kiss him slowly. 

He eased out of John as he nipped at his lip and then chin and stumbled out of the bed, binning the condom before grabbing a damp cloth. Sherlock cleaned both of them up and collapsed into bed with John. He wrapped up around him, the both of them grinning. When his phone went off he grumbled and peered at it for a moment.

“Mm, Molly won.”

“Knew she would.” John murmured and nuzzled into Sherlock’s chest. “We should do something to celebrate.”

“Give me a half hour.”

John laughed and smacked Sherlock with a pillow. 

Sherlock grinned over to him before stealing another kiss. There would be things to iron out… but this had been a long time coming.


End file.
